Hey everyone! This is my first ever story so no flames please!
Chapter 1- tired silence.
I stared blankly into the large full length mirror that hung on the plain wall of my sparsely decorated bedroom. This mirror belonged to my late grandmother and was one of the best things about my room. Its thick wooden frame is made by lightly sanded driftwood, intricately carved with beautiful swirling patterns that I draw on every piece of paper I can get hold of, whether I am aware of it or not. I rested my head gently against the cool, smooth glass for a second before pulling back to look again at my reflection.
My dark brown hair elegantly down to my hips, moving slightly with the soft, warm breeze from the open window, I could never handle it being closed, even on the coldest winter nights. I brushed my heavy bangs out of my unusual dark purple eyes that glistened with unshed tears that I refused to let fall, at least, not yet. Many people think that I wear contacts when they see my eyes, and to be honest it is much easier to let them think this than to try and explain the real reason why they are like this.
That reason is that I have a very rare disability and the eye colour is an even rarer symptom. This symptom is so rare in fact that, when doctors tried to find out what was wrong with them, they found nothing. After many tests they decided that it was just a mutation in the same part of my weird brain that caused the main reason I am different to every other fifteen year old girl in the country. I can't talk and I never have.
This has affected me since I was born. My parents started realising something was wrong when I was about two years old, after all, babies should be able to talk by then, I hadn't even made a sound, I was literally mute. My parents sent my details to every specialist in the world but all they could do is watch and hope that a miracle would happen.
The doctors are currently experimenting to find the cure, I was told that there may be a solution available but it hasn't been tested yet and could be dangerous, in fact so dangerous it could kill me. That is why I am perfectly happy with the way I am, I can sign, and the people I bother to let in to my life can understand me perfectly. It's the people that don't understand me that I don't get on with.
These people include:
All of my fellow pupils in school
My "friends"
My step father
Even my mother
I don't get on with my family. My father died five years ago, we were very close and I always felt he understood me and the way I am. He was the only one in my family who learned sign language properly and when I was six we even made up our own language, which came in handy when we wanted to hide a secret treat from mum, this happened a lot. When dad died I lost the only real friend I ever had, and even after five years without him I never found that kind of connection with someone again.
As for my mum, well when dad died she changed. She just stopped caring about anything, she completely forgot about me and for a while I had to fend for myself. I guess I have always secretly resented her for that. After about a year the worst thing that I could ever imagine happened.
She got married again. Not only did she erase every trace of my father from the house, including my picture of him I kept under my mattress, but she replaced him with this pathetic excuse of a man who instantly thought he could tell me what to do. Luckily for me, when she came to get rid of dads stuff, I had enough time to hide my locket which he gave to me. It has a picture of me and him inside and I now wear it every day as a reminder that he will always be my father and nobody can replace him.
Today is the anniversary of my father's death. I moved silently towards the window, as I stepped towards it the floor boards creaked and I froze in fear. If I was going to make it to my father's graveside in time I could not wake the still sleeping adults in the next room. Before I could even make the slightest movement I could hear the coffee machine whirling in the other room. That meant I only have ten minutes to get out before my parents wake up. The only thing that I care about right now is getting to the graveyard, no matter what it takes, even if I do get caught. My mother always hated passing by the graveyard and I am forbidden to enter, that's why I need to sneak out, and I can't be late because I am meeting an old friend of my dad's as we usually do ever since he died.
Not hearing any movement from anywhere in the house I checked my simple black dress in the mirror, adjusting the skirt and making sure my beloved locket was hidden before grabbing my bag. I stood on my toes, reaching out to grasp the sturdy branch of the oak tree just outside my window. I could feel the soggy moss sliding under my fingertips and slowly began to lose my grip. I knew I wouldn't fall as I have used the tree to escape the house many times before so, I braced my foot against the trunk and pulled myself through the window and down the tree.
Deciding that getting my bike out of the garage would be risky, I started walking. Luckily the graveyard is only two roads away from my house and I got there in about ten minutes. I walked slowly towards the iron gates that held the private lot for war heroes, my feet crunching through the thick layer of autumn leaves. My dad had fought for our country since he was twenty years old; he always used to tell me that when he missed home he would look up at the moon and think that the person he was missing was looking at the exact same one. That is the reason for my name, Luna Rose Talor, Luna meaning moon.
Pulling open the slightly rusted gate with difficulty, I walked down the familiar path to the small marble headstone near the back. I kneeled down, tracing my fingertips softly over the gold lettering. Suddenly there was a shadow cast over me and I opened my mouth, my scream silent.